Twilight Hill
by Dracozombie
Summary: AU. Roxas can't remember anything from more than a year ago, but he tries not to let it bother him, choosing to live his days happily with Axel and his friends. When his hometown is transformed into a hellish landscape, he confronts grotesque monsters and people in black coats who want to remind him of a past that is best locked away, for everyone's sake. Based on Silent Hill.


The roar of the train startled Roxas awake. Laying down on their worn-out couch, unable to remember when he'd fallen asleep, he stared blankly up through the rafters of the usual spot. Twilight Town's eternal sunset filtered through the beams, welcoming him back to reality from his nightmare.

First he was drowning in the sea. Then a platform of stained glass, its designs marred by rust.

And then...

And then, anything else about the dream was lost to darkness.

Roxas lay still, mind glazed, a heaviness weighing down his heart. It was only when hurried footsteps approached that he performed the bare minimum of movement and craned his head to the side. Pence and Olette ran into view, panting.

"Roxas, there you are!" Olette said.

"What, were you napping?" Pence said. "C'mon, the match is about to start! Hayner's already in the sandlot!"

"Sorry. I'm up." Willing himself to rise from the couch took a monumental effort only made doable by the presence of his friends. He scratched his hair. "I must've lost track of time."

Pence grinned. "You sure did. Wait 'till Hayner finds out you almost slept through the tournament."

"That can be our secret," Roxas said, with a small grin of his own. Just talking with his friends made his body feel lighter.

"Then let's hurry," Olette said.

The usual spot was an alleyway they had claimed for themselves. It was cozy – a nice way of saying it was filled to the brim with junk that doubled as furniture – but it was theirs. Hayner had proclaimed it his spot years ago, from what Roxas was told, and no one thought to challenge them on it; thus, with no one to stop them, it became theirs.

They stepped into Market Street, where the sunset greeted them in full. The light bathed the buildings and the streets in a warm glow. Market Street buzzed with activity. Numerous shoppers made their rounds, while a crowd headed towards the sandlot, the site of the annual Struggle Tournament. Roxas, Pence, and Olette weaved through the crowd downhill, careful not to bump into anyone. The first match would start in a few minutes, and they wouldn't want to miss it. Hayner would not let them.

Hayner stood proudly among the lineup of contestants in the arena, along with Seifer and Vivi. The contestants listened to the announcer as he reviewed the rules of Struggle, as a formality. Most everyone who was participating had the rules memorized by heart – foam bats only; no magic or other abilities; match ends when opponent is on the floor; no funny business. Roxas had been told that Struggle was Twilight Town's trademark sport.

"Hayner!" Roxas called out.

Hayner spun around and waved back. "Hey, 'bout time!" Seifer lazily glanced over his shoulder and flashed them a cocky grin. They turned their attention back to the announcer, while Roxas, Olette, and Pence headed for the bleachers.

The bleachers were packed. Roxas scanned the crowd for a familiar redhead and found him near the top row, munching on a pretzel. The older man spotted them and signaled them over. The trio maneuvered around and through spectators until they reached him. Three empty seats beside him were claimed with a pretzel each.

"Thanks, Axel," Roxas said, taking his seat and the pretzel.

"Yeah, thanks Axel," said Olette.

"And thank you for the pretzels," said Pence.

"Man, what took you guys?" Axel said. "I had to fight off a lady with her giant-ass purse to save these seats. That wasn't fun."

Roxas chuckled. "Well, thanks for being brave."

"Roxas was asleep," said Pence.

"Hey, I thought that was gonna be our secret."

"It was our secret from _Hayner_ ," Pence said.

Roxas lobbed a pretzel piece at him. He laughed at the foolish choice of ammo and ate it.

"That's perfectly good food you kids are wasting," Axel said.

Pence patted his stomach and munched on his pretzel. "It was for a good cause."

"So you gonna stay long?" Roxas asked Axel.

"Yeah, I'll stick around for a match or two." He smirked. "Finally get to see what Hayner's made of."

"Not gonna stay longer? I thought you were off duty today."

"I am. Just got some things to take care of."

"Like not watching the tournament."

"Gee, Roxas, you make it sound like I have better things to do."

"Heh."

The announcer finished his business and addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, Struggle fiends of Twilight Town! It's time for summer's most sizzling clash! That's right, today is the day for the Struggle and title match!"

Cue fireworks in the sky. The crowd went berserk, the walls reverberating with cheers.

The announcer introduced the combatants one by one, eight in all. There was Biggs, owner of the weapon shop, fit and trained for Struggle in his spare time. Of course, there was Hayner, Seifer, and Vivi, kids roughly his age and all enthusiastic for the sport. Setzer, last year's champion and notorious gambler and womanizer (yet talk was that he piloted a mean Gummi Ship), proudly stood among the ranks. The rest, Roxas didn't recognize, but would see them training in the sandlot from time to time.

 _And none of them are real fighters._ Where that thought came from, Roxas couldn't say.

When Seifer's name was called, a sizable number of extra spectators cheered. When Hayner's name was announced, he received the same amount of applause as anyone else – but Roxas, Olette, and Pence cheered the loudest.

"Yes, the crowd is fired up," the announcer continued, "so you know what comes next! Let's..."

The crowd finished, "STRUGGLE!"

With that, the tournament officially began. Eight contestants in all, two to a match. Rise up the ranks through process of elimination until the final two dueled it out for victory.

Today was Roxas's first Struggle tournament – the first, even though he and Axel had moved to Twilight Town two months before last year's match. They didn't watch, let alone participate. Another migraine had debilitated Roxas, one of the worst ones yet. Axel stayed home to care of him, and regardless felt no inclination to indulge in what amounted to would-be fighters battling to the death with foam bats. Maybe if it was a real fight with real weapons. Maybe if the participants were allowed to use even the most basic of magic, or if more residents of Twilight Town knew _how_ to cast magic. If they knew how to fight against opponents who did not have their safety in mind.

But, Twilight Town's peaceful atmosphere had been what enticed Axel to live here to begin with. That was what he told him. That, and the beautiful, endless sunset.

Struggle may leave Axel unimpressed, but Roxas found it engaging, and he didn't need his participation for that. In fact, his participation would have the opposite effect. It was no arrogance to say that if Roxas fought in Struggle, he would decimate the entire competition. It was plain, simple fact that there wouldn't _be_ competition. And that was with the handicap of no magic or other special abilities. It was the same for Axel and anyone else among the ranks of the town guards.

It was the natural result of knowing not just how to Struggle, but how to fight.

Hayner squared off against Biggs, Seifer against Vivi, Setzer against another combatant. No one was particularly surprised when Vivi went down in three hits; the kid was a mage, not a physical brawler, and had the misfortune of dueling Seifer. Hayner's youth and enthusiasm triumphed over Biggs, able to dodge most of Biggs's clumsy swipes and retaliating with his own clumsy yet still effective slashes of his own. Setzer, putting on a show as always, didn't even break a sweat.

Roxas, Pence, and Olette cheered Hayner on all though his matches. Soon it was down to him, Seifer, Setzer, and the last combatant. Hayner waved to his friends, and they cheered back.

Axel tapped Roxas's shoulder; he needed to go. Roxas bid him farewell, and Axel left, his tall frame blocking others' view as he awkwardly climbed off the bleachers. Roxas watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Hayner. The match between him and Seifer was about to start, and the crowd went wild. Seifer smirked and waved to his fans (or the fans he imagined he had), turning his back to Hayner, who huffed.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the announcer, "we have – Hayner versus Seifer!"

Through their expressions and stances, Roxas could tell some sort of trash talk was going on, which Hayner seemed to be on the losing side of. That figured. Their rivalry, according to talk, went back to their early childhood, and Seifer was not always known for his good sportsmanship. Then again, Hayner didn't always have the best attitude himself.

The match began, and to his confusion, rather than cheer Hayner on, Roxas found himself with a frown.

Hayner always intended for each attack to be a staggering or decisive blow. That often meant that he put so much strength into his strikes that it left him wide open for a counter, which Seifer took advantage of. When he ran, he held his Struggle bat up at an awkward angle and let it flop around him, which could throw him off balance – which Seifer also took advantage of.

 _good thing he's not in a real fight_

Hayner struck at Seifer fiercely that would have been significant blows, had they connected. Seifer used Hayner's momentum against him, dodged, and swiped at his back. His strikes were hard and quick, dangerous for someone without control of their own movements.

Compared to Hayner, Seifer had more control of himself. In Roxas's opinion, he was the closest Twilight Town had to a real fighter who wasn't actually a real fighter, and it showed in his style. True, he put extra twirls and bravado into his attacks – not up to Setzer's level of flashiness, granted – but his confidence wasn't unfounded. He held his Struggle bat straight with precision. He didn't charge in with reckless abandon – he assessed and calculated his and his opponent's positions, and waited for his opponent to charge at _him_ , giving him the chance to counter. An arrogant blowhard, but he wasn't stupid.

 _or he'd be_

Hayner grit his teeth in frustration, unable to land a solid blow. He was swift enough to block and dodge – he had that much going for him – but Seifer could recover faster than Hayner. Roxas could tell he was getting angry. He went for a long lunge strong enough to knock Seifer down.

 _not in a real fight, or_

Big mistake. True to Roxas's predictions and Hayner's usual style, Seifer dodged the lunge by a hair. Hayner teetered on one leg, and it was all it took to knock Hayner down.

"And that's the match, folks!" said the announcer. Hayner, still on his back, groaned and smacked the floor. Applause filled the air, Seifer for winning, and Hayner for trying. Pence and Olette didn't let their disappointment keep them from cheering – Hayner needed it.

Hayner got up and dusted himself off. There was more trash talk between him and Seifer, but this time, Hayner had little to counter with. He lost, fair and square. He reluctantly shook hands with Seifer, then with the announcer, and with one last wave to the spectators, took his seat in the bleachers next to his friends.

"You did great, Hayner," Olette said.

He groaned. "Can't believe that I lost."

Pence shrugged, unworried. "There's always next year's tournament. Don't sweat it too much, at least it was a good fight."

Too disturbed by his own thoughts, Roxas had little to say in response.

 _Good thing he's not in a real fight, or he'd be dead.  
_

* * *

If the usual spot was Hayner's special area, then the clock tower was Roxas's. Technically, Axel was the one who claimed it. He extended his find to Roxas, and Roxas extended it to his friends. The clock tower was opened to the public, but few people bothered with the trek to the top. Thus, it became a private hangout spot.

Roxas always felt safe atop this clock tower. Sitting on the ledge, alone or not, watching the sunset and eating ice cream, he forgot his troubles better than he could anywhere else. Sometimes he felt as though the clock tower itself watched over him.

Lined up in their usual places on the edge, they munched on their sea-salt ice cream, watching the sunset and admiring the view of the whole town from above.

At least, Pence and Olette admired it.

"And now he gets to lord bragging rights over me for a year! Again!" Hayner said. "It's like, every time we pass on the street, it'll be, like, 'Hey chicken wuss, betcha wish you had this awesome new trophy!'"

"Come on, Seifer's not that much of a braggart," Olette said.

"But it _is_ a cool trophy," Pence said.

"It could've been mine, dammit. It's just–" Hayner growled and pantomimed strangling someone. In the action, he almost dropped his ice cream. "Y'know, if Roxas fought in the tournament, then there's no way Seifer would've won."

Olette said, "But Hayner, if Roxas fought, there's no way you'd have won, either."

"Yeah, but it'd still mean Seifer wouldn't get to win."

Roxas listened to the exchange in silence. The clock tower's calming aura almost made him forget his dark thoughts and the nightmare.

"But I was close to winning, right, Roxas?"

Almost made him forget. There were a number of ways Roxas could have responded to that. _It's a good thing that wasn't a real fight, or you'd be_ \- He decided to tell the truth. He shrugged and forced a grin.

"I guess Seifer's just the better fighter."

Hayner looked mocked offended. "Oh, that's it! Someone throw their ice cream at this guy!"

"Why don't you throw yours?" said Olette.

"Uh, no? I'm not wasting perfectly good ice cream on Roxas."

Roxas's grin became genuine. "What, am I not good enough to get ice cream thrown at?"

"Maybe you're good enough for the stick." Hayner chomped down the last of his ice cream and lobbed the popsicle stick at him.

Roxas caught it. He looked at it and gave Hayner an expression of smug triumph. "Joke's on you – this is a winner stick!"

"What?! No way."

"Totally. Maybe I'll let you have it if you apologize."

"Apologize? For what?"

"For threatening to waste good ice cream."

" _Our_ good ice cream," Olette said.

"Well, fine then. Sir Roxas, I humbly apologize for my attempted desecration of the salty confectionery."

They blinked in surprise.

"Whoa. That was pretty good, Hayner," Pence said.

"Yeah, I thought you hated English class," said Olette.

"I'll let you have it just for that," Roxas said. He tossed the stick back to him.

Hayner looked at it. He threw it back as hard as he could. "Oh, you ass!"

Roxas laughed. Olette and Pence, who'd otherwise been in the line of ice cream stick fire, laughed too. Soon Hayner joined in. They shared their laughter, and for that moment, there was nothing wrong in the world. Roxas plopped down on his back and stared at the sky, and thought, as though someone grabbed the idea at random and shoved it onto the shelf in his head, about how it had been over a year now since he and Axel had moved to Twilight Town.

He blinked in confusion. The past was a notion he deliberately didn't entertain much, on Axel's persuasion, and enforced by the threat of migraines. He analyzed from where this train of thought came from, and arrived at the Struggle tournament. The Struggle tournament just passed, and they arrived to Twilight Town a few months before last year's match. Yes, that sounded plausible. The Struggle tournament. A place mark on the timeline of his life that, for all Roxas remembered, was only a year long.

Axel said it was an accident. Not a battle, an accident. According to Axel, they were ambushed them in their home, and in the ensuing chaos, Roxas suffered an injury that robbed him of his memories of his entire life. It was a miracle that he wasn't currently a vegetable, yet here he was.

Roxas didn't count the exact number of days, for he believed his life was more than marks on a calendar. That was what he told himself, and Axel repeated it for him, and for the most part it seemed to comfort him from the knowledge that nearly the entirety of his life was one long blank.

When Hayner was seven, he attempted to run away from home when his father left their mother. He was eight when his mother found another man who loved them both. When Olette was twelve, she starred as Princess Cornelia in Twilight Town Middle School's rendition of _I Want to Be Your Canary_ , fueling an interest of the stage. Pence was eleven when he got his first camera and took up photography. Seifer, according to trustworthy testimony from Rai and Fuu, was the ripe age of ten upon winning his first Struggle match. Young Vivi was nine when he was separated from his grandfather, Quan, and began to practice magic.

Fate did not gift Roxas with a seven or a twelve or a five, at least ones that meant anything to him. For him, there was no number less than fourteen.

Look forward to the present and the future. Don't bother with the past. It was easy to do, when there was no past to remember.

Hayner's phone rang, and Roxas's thoughts, as they usually did by necessity, returned to the present.

"Hey, ma. Uhh yeah, I totally kicked ass in the tournament. Totally. ... Heh heh. ... Oh sweet! That sounds cool. Yeah, we'll pick some stuff up along the way. ... All right... All right ... Okay, see ya. Love you, too, ma."

"Aww!" cooed Olette. "I love hearing you talk with your mom."

Hayner waved her off, embarrassed. "Yeah, yeah, we're adorable. Anyway, onto important matters – barbecue tonight! You guys are in, right? Of course you are."

"Sounds great!" Pence said, like he would for most things involving food. "I guess your mom wants us to pick up some groceries?"

"We sure are. It's fair game tonight – tournament celebrations and all – so let's head to the store and get something good, all right?"

Hayner, Olette, and Pence rose from their spots. Roxas made no motion to move. Hayner decided this was unacceptable.

"Uh, hello? Roxas? Barbecue, free food, et cetera? You in or what?"

"Of course I am," he said. "I just wanted to stay here a bit longer."

Hayner gave him a mock harrumph. "Well, we're all pulling our weight, getting the goods and stuff. You're not off the hook. You're on ice cream duty, got it?"

Roxas smiled. "Labor fee. Got it."

They bid each other farewell, and Roxas was alone on the clock tower.

Minutes later, he heard familiar footsteps approach. Still staring at the sky, he said, "Hey, Axel."

"Hey, man." Axel took his usual seat next to him.

"Hayner's mom is having a barbecue. I'm eating at his place tonight, if that's okay."

"Fire and food. You can't go wrong with either of those things, Roxas."

"Especially when they're together?"

"Especially when they're together."

It was hard to hide things from Axel. Roxas wasn't sure how much he'd been wanting to hide it at all. Axel seemed to sense his mood and asked, "You feeling okay?"

"Kind of. I guess? I had a weird dream earlier today."

"Not too unusual for you," he said casually, yet sympathetically. "What about?"

Roxas lightly sighed and gathered his thoughts the best he could. He wasn't sure if he would be able to talk about it any place besides the clock tower. Not even home. The clock tower just had something comforting to it that no other place did.

"I don't remember too well. I think I was drowning, in the ocean or something. Then it was dark, and I was standing on these platforms of stained glass or metal."

Roxas glanced over at him. Axel was staring straight forward, frowning.

"Axel?"

"Stained glass. Right. You remember what it looked like?"

Roxas thought that was a bit strange to ask, but answered anyway. "I couldn't tell. It was dirty and rusted over."

"Then what?"

"And then..."

Roxas flexed his hand as if grasping a handle. Axel said nothing as he glanced over at this.

"I don't remember anything else. Then I woke up."

Axel remained silent for a long time, brows furrowed, lost in thought. This worried Roxas. He quickly said, "I mean, I don't think it was a big deal or anything. It was just a weird dream."

And then, like nothing unusual had been said, Axel shrugged and smirked. "Yeah. Sounds weird, all right. You hadn't watched any trippy movies lately, have you?"

Roxas didn't try to grill him about what he was hiding. He knew from experience that it was a crapshoot. He didn't ask much about the past, but he remembered doing so early on, when he was a zombie still piecing together why he was even around. Sometimes Axel elaborated; he looked after Roxas since he was very young; they were both fighters, training from an early age; they traveled a lot; he was tutored for most of his life, so going to a proper school would be an adjustment; he in particular liked the beach. The rest of the time? It was a past better off not remembering.

And when Roxas thought about challenging whatever authority made Axel think he had the right to decide what _he_ should and shouldn't remember, he would tell himself Axel had his best interests at heart, and really, his present life was good enough. There was much to look forward to. Finishing school. A real career, based on combat or otherwise. Family and friends. Even tomorrow held the possibility for a fun, new day.

"How 'bout you take it easy today?" Axel said. "Sometimes you get those migraines after weird dreams."

He had a point. Even now, in spite the clock tower's guardianship, a dull ache formed in his head. Migraines burdened him whenever he tried to think about the memories he lost. Sometimes they also appeared on days when he had unusual dreams. It was the other reason Roxas didn't question the past much. At their worst, his migraines could render him bedridden.

"I don't wanna miss Hayner's barbecue, though."

"Hey, there'll be plenty of barbecues down the line. It's more important you take care of yourself. They'll understand if you can't make it today."

"What if I get some rest at home first, then go?"

"I'd rather you stuck around home the rest of the day."

"Axel, I'll be fine." He meant well, Roxas reminded himself, but light and darkness dammit if best intentions didn't patronize him sometimes.

Axel frowned again. "I just wanna make sure you'll be all right, Roxas."

"If you're worried, come with me to the barbecue, then."

"Hmm. I'll think about it. Got a few more things to take care of, first."

"More? Like what?"

"Eh." Axel shrugged noncommittally. "I figured I'd do a quick sweep around the Tram Common."

"So much for being off duty today."

Axel flashed him a smirk. "A real town guard is never off duty."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm serious, man. There've been reports of creeps lurking around town. I don't want you getting caught up in anything."

"Axel." Roxas fixed him an incredulous stare. "I'm pretty sure I can handle a few creeps."

"Doesn't mean you should have to."

"Then, wouldn't it be better to stick in a large group?"

Axel considered that, and sighed in resignation. "Guess you got me there. Yeah, go ahead with the barbecue plan. I'll see if I can pop on by. Free food and all."

"And fire." Roxas rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You got a point, too. Maybe I am getting a migraine."

"That reminds me, I picked up your prescription for you last night. Sorry, forgot to mention it. They should be in your medicine cabinet."

"Thanks."

They enjoyed the sunset in silence for a bit. Roxas broke it.

"I, uh... I had a weird thought during the finals match."

"Yeah?"

Roxas wasn't sure how to put it. "I was worried about Hayner for some reason. Like, I know he's not actually a fighter, but his style... well, would he be able to handle himself is he was in real trouble?"

"You kidding? That kid's stance bugs me too. Who does that... that thing with their arm?" He moved his left arm the way Hayner did.

"Axel, I was _scared_ for him, and I don't know why. I was just thinking that something bad was gonna happen, and he wouldn't be able to handle himself, and– and–"

"Roxas." Axel placed a hand on his shoulder, calming him down. "Okay, that was a weird thought, but just look at it this way. How do you think a kid like Hayner can afford to suck at fighting?"

"He doesn't _suck_ , Axel, but go on."

"Heh. He gets away with it 'cause this town is so peaceful, he doesn't need to know how to get good. Besides, even if shit goes down the hole, you got folks like you and me who can clean things up."

"I guess so."

Roxas said nothing more after that. There wasn't much else to be said, nor could he think of anything else. The dull ache in his head increased. He closed his eyes and tried to enjoy this peaceful moment for as long as it would last.

When he had his fill, Roxas said, "I think I'll head home."

"Good plan. You need an escort or anything? Wouldn't want you collapsing on Market Street," Axel half-joked.

"If I fall and crack my head open, I'll be sure to give you a text."

"Heh heh. See ya, man. Head straight home."

"I will. Later."

* * *

The further away he was from the clock tower, the more the heaviness in his heart increased, and the greater the throbbing in his head. He strongly considered following Axel's advice and skipping Hayner's barbecue altogether.

Market Street in the afternoon was busier than normal, after the excitement of the tournament. In the sandlot, he could be sure volunteers were already taking down the arena and the bleachers. Family and friends used the event as an excuse to celebrate at restaurants or just shop around. Roxas wished he could take part in the activities. The pain in his head told him otherwise.

Among the crowd was a girl, standing some meters further downhill. Red hair, pink sporty dress. She caught Roxas's eye for standing still in the middle of the street. The townspeople moved around her like the river around a rock.

Her blue eyes were wide, mouth open in shock. She was staring.

Roxas felt awkward, but thought nothing of it. There were a dozen others on the street she could be staring at. As he moved further downhill, they caught each other's gaze. He realized with bewilderment that she was staring at _him_.

"You're here."

In seconds, she crossed the distance between them, and her arms were enveloped around him.

"Sora! Sora, it's you! We finally found you!"

 _Sora_.

As inexplicable as the nightmare he couldn't remember, as unsettling as the disturbing thoughts while watching Hayner's fight, Roxas began to feel very afraid.

He squirmed in her embrace. "Sorry, do I know you?!"

Slowly, horrified, the girl released him and held him at arm's length. Her eyes were even wider.

"What... ?"

Roxas backed away. The girl stood frozen in place.

"I don't..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "What're you talking about?"

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but you got the wrong guy. My name is Roxas. I'm sorry."

Hoping the matter was settled, he walked around her, leaving her to stand there, trembling. Perhaps it was guilt or sympathy that made him walk slowly, maybe to gauge how the strange, apparently desperate girl would fare. He couldn't stop himself from pausing to look over his shoulder. The girl was in the same spot. Now she was trembling.

It was his mistake to stop. She spun around and faced him again.

"Wait," she said.

Against his better judgment, Roxas did. She walked towards him, cautiously, almost as though he were an animal who would run at any second. Roxas thought that that assessment was at least half right.

The girl said, "You... really don't remember me?"

"Sorry. I don't." Roxas began to turn away again. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes.

The girl swallowed. It was a while before she could bring herself to speak. "My name is Kairi. I... we've been looking for you."

Roxas waited for her to elaborate. It seemed to take her effort for her to collect herself. A part of Roxas's heart told him to listen to Kairi. A darker part of his heart told him to run, run before it was too late.

Kairi continued, "You disappeared over a year ago–"

The part of him that told him to run won out. A migraine attacked him without mercy. Roxas gripped his head, almost brought to his knees.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Kairi asked. She put her hands on his shoulders, an action that, in any other context, would have comforted him.

Roxas shook off her touch. He kept himself together long enough to groan, "I'm fine. I need to get going."

He jogged away. Kairi followed. "Wait! Sor- Roxas! We need to talk! Please!"

"Just leave me alone!"

Roxas darted past and around townspeople. With his blurring vision, he almost knocked a few people over. There were confused, annoyed, or concerned looks shot his way, but none of them registered with him. The entrance to the underground tunnels awaited him. It was a maze in there.

"Please! Wait!"

In the tunnels, Roxas broke into a sprint. His vision blurred, his head was splitting, but he ran. Kairi's pleading and footsteps echoed closely behind him. Roxas was faster. Twist and turns, deeper into the tunnels, identical corridors. Anything to lose the girl desperately chasing him.

When Kairi's voice dulled to a mere echo, and eventually fading into nothing, Roxas allowed himself to rest against a wall. He shut his eyes, his migraine slowly receding, but not going away anytime soon. He focused on his breathing. In, out.

It was all right. He could do this. Just go home, take some medication, sleep this off, and everything would go back to normal in the morning. He would never see Kairi again, and his life would continue as it always did. He willed his eyes open and his legs to move.

The tunnels were blissfully quiet. Most people took the trains to get around town, but the maintenance crew used the tunnels for easy access. Roxas often used the tunnels as a shortcut between the Tram Commons and Central Station during the times large crowds congested Market Street. He was familiar with that path. But escaping Kairi, he ran so deeply into the tunnels that he put himself beyond his range of navigation.

Dully, he glanced around for a map – it was likely for civilians to get lost in here. Stories existed about people who entered these tunnels and never came back out. He never paid them much attention, and thought they tended to leave out the victims' potential involvement of alcohol. Still, Twilight Town had its share of ghost stories, and wandering through its extensive tunnel system, alone, migraine threatening to split his head, Roxas wondered if he would become his own story.

Overhead, electricity crackled. Roxas glanced at the ceiling, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and continued his trek. Silence reigned again, save for the echo of his footsteps. Twist, turn. Another corner he didn't recognize. At that intersection, should he have turned left or right? There, an arrow pointing him to the gate. He followed it. Twist, turn. For the maintenance crew to navigate the tunnels so well, they must have every nook and cranny memorized – like hell anyone else could tell one corridor apart from another. Turn.

His world began to flicker in and out of sight. This time, he stopped and looked around. The tunnel walls dimmed and returned to normal as power to the lights seemed to weaken. The hum of electricity silenced and resumed with each flicker. For a tense few seconds, the lights stabilized, but his surroundings remained dim.

The lights attempted one final save, and died, and Roxas was plunged into complete darkness.

His throat squeezed shut. Never had he experienced a darkness this deep. Twilight Town's sunset meant that there was always light somewhere. He could don a blindfold and lock himself in the closet, and that darkness would be a fraction of the intensity of what he was lost in right now. If he stayed in this darkness for any longer, he felt it might suffocate him.

He conjured a Fire spell in his hand, and a crimson glow lit the tunnel walls. Past his tiny radius of light was pure black. This was unusual. As far as he knew, the lights in the tunnel never shut off. Even if the main power failed, the backup power or the emergency lights would kick in. But no. The power in the tunnels completely shut down.

Freak power failure or emergency maintenance, maybe. Whatever the reason, he decided he should get out of here. Right now.

The tunnels were a different beast to navigate in the dark. With only a Fire spell to guide him, the shadows rendered each corner and each turn unrecognizable. He counted himself lucky that, after a few false turns and dead ends, he found his usual path. He turned one last corner, the one he knew led to the Tram Commons.

He stopped, unsure if what he was seeing was – should be – correct.

The shutter gate was closed.

It was the afternoon. Why shut the gates so early? Emergency maintenance, sure – but he'd heard the sound of the shutters lowering before. Maintenance crews lowered them during Twilight Town's designated late hours. One time he and Axel were out late enough where they saw the tunnels closing. The clanking of the shutters could be heard almost all the way across the Tram Common.

Furthermore, if by some freak chance he hadn't heard the shutters themselves, then he'd have at least heard maintenance workers taking advantage of the tunnels' impressive acoustics to check if anyone was inside first before sealing the gates.

But he didn't hear anything. And minutes ago the gates were open. Now they were shut.

Roxas pounded on the gate, ignoring how the echoing clanging hurt his ears. "Hey! Anyone out there? I got locked inside!"

No response. On a hunch, he pressed his ear to the door – he blanched, for it was unusually freezing – and listened.

This was the gate to the Tram Common. At this time of day, he should hear talking and laughter, the footsteps of townspeople going about their day, the rattling of trams, the thudding of boxes as the nearby accessory shop moved new inventory.

Outside, he heard nothing.

A pit formed in his stomach. Dots were lining up, but he didn't know how to connect them. This gate was locked. Okay. Find another gate. All right.

He turned tail, and paused at what he saw. The tunnels were no stranger to graffiti, despite the maintenance crew's best efforts. Most likely he hadn't been paying attention, nor could have seen it clearly in the poor lighting, but he couldn't say if the symbol on the wall across from him had been there a minute ago.

It looked to be an upside-down heart with a spiky cross on top. He approached the symbol to scrutinize it. The paint seemed old – it had to have been made some time ago. And yet, despite someone tagging it in a relatively well-used section of the tunnels, no one saw fit to clean it up.

He backed away, refusing to stare at it any longer. His migraine threatened to return.

The poor lighting could be playing tricks on him, but the tunnel walls seemed dirtier than what the maintenance crew would ordinarily allow. The floors, too. There must have been a pipe leak; there was even a puddle on the floor...

Oh, hell.

He hadn't identified the liquid at first. The Fire spell reflected the stain with an orange glow, making him unsure if he wasn't looking at something else entirely. But no, it wasn't the Fire's reflection. The stain itself was red.

The more he stared at the liquid, the more clearly the horror dawned on him. It was the final confirmation that something was horribly wrong.

On the floor was a trail of blood.

Then he became aware of the slurping.

Roxas's gaze followed the blood trail to where it led around a corner; the slurping came from there. _Run_ , something whispered. Run like hell, don't look back. Like a man possessed, he followed the blood. Awful, dreadful curiosity propelled him forward. His footsteps were light, his heart racing. Around the corner, it sounded like an animal devouring its prey. And he was heading towards it. Light and darkness, he was going towards what he should run away from. Trembling, Roxas peeked around the corner.

One could mistake it for human at first glance, and, in the dim lighting, Roxas nearly did just that. Its hands and feet ended in sharp points. It was emaciated beyond being unhealthily thin; it seemed to have nothing inside. He saw no indication it possessed any bones, yet there was solidity to its mass. It bent itself over to feast upon a meaty lump that the blood trail led to, eating its fill. The the lump of meat being devoured, Roxas noted with a churning stomach, looked human-shaped.

The light from the Fire spell caught its attention. It turned to him, body disgustingly sinuous, a mass of rotting gray skin become mobile. The same thorny heart symbol that had been displayed on the wall was tattooed on its head. No eyes. Just a mouth so large it separated its head in two; a zipper connected the two halves, with the zipper's teeth taking on a literal meaning.

Roxas gaped, a scream caught in his throat. He didn't breathe, didn't blink. The monster twisted its mass like the husk of flesh that it was.

He found his voice. "Get away!" he choked.

The monster twitched. It smelled fresh meat. Its eyeless face grinned in hunger. Roxas backed away. The monster slithered towards him.

"Get the hell away from me!"

With a scream, Roxas lobbed the Fire spell at the monster. The creature contorted itself out of the spell's path, a mass of skin winding through midair as though by a gust. The Fire's light trailed further down the tunnel until it hit the wall, dissipating into embers, and again bathing the world in complete darkness.

In the second it took Roxas to cast a new Fire so he could see again, the monster was two feet away. This close, he saw the blood staining its zipper teeth, a piece of leftover flesh dangling from its mouth. The scent of meat and rotten skin assaulted his nostrils. Roxas jumped backwards as far as he could, summoning his energy to clear a distance of meters between himself and the monster.

Fight, or run. Make the decision now. If he was cognizant enough to believe it, then somehow it was possible that he was too scared to run. There was no room in his head for thought or calculations. Pure instinct took over his mind and his body. Fight. Fight, or die.

He kept a Fire lit in one hand and tossed spell after spell – Blizzards, Thunders, more Fires. His fear impaired his aim. Half his spells missed entirely; the other half only grazed it enough to slow it down. It weaved through the air like a dirty sheet of paper, but when a spell did connect, the monster screeched in pain. When his Fires and Thunders hit, he learned what burning flesh smelled like.

He was backed against the wall of an intersection. In his panic, he had no idea which way was the exit – or if the exit was even unsealed. The monster lunged... and Roxas felt something solid form in his hand.

 _keyblade_

The name formed in his mind before the weapon in question materialized in his palm. Yes, weapon. A key as large and sturdy as a real sword, designed to cause similar damage. Silver blade, gold guard, a keychain sporting, of all symbols, Disney Town's royal emblem. The keyblade emitted a white glow, a light that cut through the darkness in a way that a Fire spell could not.

For a microsecond, the monster hesitated at this new turn of events. It then decided that meat was meat, and continued its lunge. It twisted towards him, zipper teeth bared.

Roxas's body automatically shifted to a fighting stance: keyblade gripped firmly with both hands, stance low and wide. With his new weapon, he slashed at the monster – hard, fast, right on the mark, with the strength and form of one who'd used a weapon before. There was the sound of metal ripping flesh as he hit it out of the air and slammed it to the ground. He paused and watched, keyblade gripped tight, unable to believe that this was happening, oh hell this was actually happening. The monster shrieked and squirmed and writhed, mouth wide open, and past its maw he saw nothing inside it but an empty void. The tear in its chest spilled no blood, no insides, no half-digested meat, nothing. He might as well have attacked a scalped hide on a butcher's rack – except that he couldn't even see to the other side of its hollow frame. It wasn't solid black fitted under a skin; there was nothing for his mind to process. There was literally nothing inside. What was his keyblade piercing? With what system did a creature like this use to feel pain and shriek? Where did the flesh of its victim even wind up?

The monster struggled to get back up, but Roxas gave it no chance. He plunged the keyblade straight into its chest. It screeched and roared and flailed, swiping at the blade with pointed digits in a futile attempt to dislodge it. Roxas removed the blade himself. Before the monster could rise to attack, he raised the keyblade over his head, and mercilessly swung it down. Again, and again. With each strike, the monster shrieked and its struggling weakened. The force of each impact was sent through his weapon to his arms, a cruel, inescapable reminder that this was all real.

The monster gave one last pathetic flail, and died. With a sound that Roxas could only describe as flesh melting, the monster dissolved into nothing.

The tunnels were silent again. Roxas stood frozen in place, shaking and panting. The keyblade remained tightly gripped in his hands. He waited and listened for the next threat – maybe another monster lurked around the corner, or the one he just killed reappear in a vengeance. All he heard was his own heavy breathing and the rattling of the keyblade's keychain as he trembled. When his tension began to recede, he relaxed his grip on the keyblade and stared at the spot where the monster had been moments ago.

There was no body left. He could pretend that nothing had been there, that it had all been a hallucination, but all it took to shatter that dream was one look at the corpse. Something had killed it – and eaten it. Resisting the bile that threatened to rise in his throat, Roxas approached the body. A pulpy, fleshless mass of red was the person's new face; he couldn't even recognize who it was – who it had been. His chest had been ripped apart, clothes and skin torn and stained in crimson. He had been a man, a real person, with family and friends and a face, reduced to a bloody carcass. The man had no weapon or abilities to defend himself with. He might not have even had a light to see by. For all Roxas knew, before the man's chest was torn apart, he had been wandering in the darkness, blind and alone.

He turned away from the body, not confident he could contain himself if he stared any longer. He took deep breaths. Get out of here, call the town guards, call Axel, call for help, _run_.

Roxas ran. One corner to turn, and the exit to Market Street soon awaited him. As with its sibling that led to the Tram Common, it too was sealed. More graffiti was presented for him. This time, painted so large it took up the entirety of the shutter, was a symbol of a keyhole.

As though yanked by an invisible string, the keyblade pointed itself at the gate. There was a brief flash of light, then a click. Then nothing. Roxas slowly approached the shutter. He gave it an experimental lift – and the shutter rose with a deafening rattle.

He gladly exited the dark tunnels to Market Street. Once outside, he was smothered by a wall of fog.

On colder days, Twilight Town's areas of lower elevation occasionally had fog. If he and Axel happened to wake up early on those days, they would sometimes bring their breakfast and head to the clock tower. There they would admire the fog from above, watching it roam and churn, buildings becoming islands amidst an ocean of white.

Summer had no foggy days. Before he had entered the tunnels, thin clouds floated high in the sky, the sunset free to shine. There should not be a fog, let alone a fog thick enough to block out the sunset. He'd never seen Twilight Town so... dark.

And he was alone.

Market Street was empty, when less than half an hour ago, it had been filled with people and activity. In the place of humans was fog and silence. The emptiness of his town was unreal.

If he squinted, he could just about see through the fog well enough to make out the buildings. The shops on Market Street, normally the main area of commerce, looked like they had been abandoned years ago. Dirty walls surrounded him, the paint peeling off in many areas. Doors and windows were boarded up or broken completely; a view inside the shops, at least those he could see into, showed the interiors were no more intact than the outsides. Other shops looked to be in mid-construction, skeletal scaffolding in place of solid walls, construction equipment long since discarded as though its workers had been driven away all at once. Up the street, down the street, it was all the same.

The panic in him was joined by disbelief and fear. He dialed Axel's number. "C'mon, pick up, pick up... !"

A blast of static was his response. Yet, he still heard a voice. Roxas yelled, "Axel? Axel, can you hear me?! Something's wrong!"

"... Rox... wh..t's … ing on?! … hink ... I... in.. he.. sion!"

"Axel?!"

And a girl's voice he didn't recognize, clear as day, broke through the static.

"Roxas. Come to the old mansion."

The call ended.

He dialed Axel's number again, and heard nothing but static. He dialed Hayner, Pence, and Olette, and received more static. The town guards? Call didn't even go through.

Of course, the guards wouldn't be reached. No one from the outside world would hear him. He'd entered another reality, a realm of eternal fog where monsters from the darkest of nightmares lurked in the shadows and preyed upon anyone unlucky enough to encounter them.

With no other options, Roxas made his way for the old mansion. In the distance, smothered by fog, he almost made out a small figure in a black coat. When he blinked, there was no one there.


End file.
